Hawkeyes Release
by HopelessRomanticxox
Summary: Swoosh was the sound of falling. The sound of falling and not knowing if you were going to fly or fall... Rated T for language


**This is a one-shot about Clint Barton and the aftermath of Loki's control. **

* * *

The _swoosh_ noise was quite possibly one of his favourites. It was a calming, swooping sensation that reminded him of falling, yet kept him ever so grounded.

He had been in the shooting range for hours now with no disturbances. Well, someone did walk in earlier but one quick arrow to the door and he left pretty quickly. Clint had fired arrow after arrow, only stopping to recollect and start again. To begin with he had been sending arrows directly to the centre of his targets; whether it be the bulls-eye, the heart of his cardboard people targets and his 3d ones also. Now his arrows were flying round the target base, a few even somehow making it to the ceiling, a feat he was impressed with and confused by all at the same time.

Clint had been hiding out on the training floor since before yesterday evening. Since New York was declared the winner in an alien war and Loki had been transported back to Asgard to face intergalactic punishment. The avengers had been told they would have 2 weeks paid leave and instead of leaving the city like he assumed the others had done he stayed, taking his frustration out on sacks of sand. Nobody from the team had come to visit which was why he thought they'd all upped and left. He knew that Bruce and Tony had driven to Washington to find Pepper and then were heading to Tony's mansion in Malibu, and Thor had returned to Asgard but Steve and Natasha were just AWOL to him.

Clint's mind was full of nightmares. Clear as day when he closed his eyes he could picture each and everyone of his targets in his line of vision, could hear his thoughts pounding; telling him to shoot and to kill. At the time his body didn't care, just following the orders of an insane God but his mind and his heart was screaming for himself to stop.

He remembered landing on the heli-carrier, every inch of his being fighting the invasion of his own body, knowing he wouldn't, couldn't win. Instead he had to look on helplessly, something evil pushing him out of his own control and using his body like a puppet master controls his wooden toys. The strings were being pulled by Loki and Clint could still feel his control.

He sighed firing his last arrow and throwing the bow to the floor with a clattering sound. Ignoring it, and moving onto the punch bags Clint neglected the safety and instead began hitting the sack, imagining it to be Loki's face as mind whirled on.

When the archer pulled his weapon on Nick Fury, his boss and friend for the most part, something inside Clint clicked. He was convinced that Loki was weaker than him, and that no matter what power he thinks he is wielding the marksmen would be stronger and would win. He was wrong. He could feel, could see an arm stretching outwards and the bullet firing, flying through the sky until it impacted with the directors chest. What he only realised afterwards was, it was his arm.

He could see Maria Hill, a strong, important Agent to S.H.I.E.L.D, ducking and diving and returning fire against one of her best agents…Clint. The archer shot arrows, bullets anything towards the dark haired woman and his body, his face showed no guilt, no sign that the man inside was screaming at himself to stop.

He could see Natasha, the fear in her eyes that only came from a seriously close chance at death from someone she trusted and now she was being forced to fight her partner. Through the comms he had heard her voice, her shaky yet determined voice, opting to find Clint and fix whatever Loki had done to him. He remembered fighting her, their sparring matches was usually something fun between them but this time one of them was fighting to kill. That was him. It made himself sick to even just think about it.

"Clint? Clint!" He looked around to see Natasha as she halted beside him, having run the length of the training room upon seeing him in a frozen state, his only movement being the continuous punch to the bag. She looked slightly startled and he followed her gaze to his hands. They were red like her hair but this was his own blood. Cuts and bruises were beginning to form and his hands had gone from pale to battered red and in areas, brown from the bruising. A deep red line ran through his palm where he had gripped the handle of his bow too forcibly earlier.

"Oh, hey Tash thought you were away?" His voice was monotone, not really looking at her and no longer looking at his hands, instead just staring towards the wall. He felt her hand take his elbow, steering him towards the bench and grabbing a first aid kit on their way. As he stared blankly she began to treat his cuts.

"I've been looking for you." She lied as she wiped the blood away.

"Bullshit, you knew I'd be here." He replied without pause.

"You needed some space anyone could see that. Though apparently I gave you too much space." Natasha tightened her grip just a little when the antiseptic stung his skin and he attempted to pull away.

"I could have killed you Nat." Clint was now looking right at her, his gaze boring into her.

"Don't. Just don't do that to yourself Clint I've told you once." She stopped for a second, her gaze going from soft to stern in seconds and back again.

"Someone has to." He whispered. Natasha finished bandaging his hand and stood up, pulling him up with her.

"Come with me."

She led him down the corridor, through the various hallways and into one of the offices. Sliding into the black, leather chair she typed a couple of passcodes into the computer and flipped through various files until she came to Agent histories. By-passing the security once more she scrolled down the alphabetical list until she came to her own name.

"Natasha what are you doing?" Clint asked, pulling up a chair beside her and watching the screen.

A page came up of faces. Male, female, children of all nationalities, all hair colours and skin colours and all with the word **terminated **written underneath in bold lettering.

"What is this?" Clint asked quietly, taking the mouse and scrolling down slowly.

"These are all faces of people I – the black widow killed when working for Red Room. For years my nightmares were plagued with each and every single face, all manner of names and 99.9% innocent. Seriously Clint, there are hundreds, if not thousands there but barely any deserved to die."

"Tash…" Clint began to say but she cut him off.

"Stop. I don't need words of sympathy, believe me I've had more than enough of that. Clint, what I'm trying to say is that when I was compromised I killed thousands of people without thinking about it. I didn't care that they were innocent, or my age or even younger than me. If I had run into someone I knew back then I would have killed them without a second thought. But I wasn't me. My mind was filled with commands from Russian dictators that controlled each and every action I completed. It took me a hell of a long time to realise that and occasionally I still have nightmares. But someone helped through every step of the way,' she looked at him now, lifting his face away from the screen to match hers, 'do you know who that was?"

"Me." He replied.

"You. And now it's my turn. This is me helping you Clint." He gave her a weak smile, but didn't really feel it.

"It's not working Tash."

"Of course it's not it's been half an hour dumbass. You worked with me for years and if that's how long it takes then I'm in it for the long run."

"Fight me!" Natasha encouraged but Clint wasn't overly interested. He was kitted up – properly this time – but despite going through the motions was more interested in the idea of going to bed.

"Nat."

"No, not Nat. Not until you've thrown a decent punch now try and hit me. Come on." She re-iterated bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet. He thrust his fist lamely and she stopped, raising an eyebrow.

"Is that it? I've seen stronger throws in a high school punch bowl. I'm not leaving this Clint. Not until you fight properly."

"I don't particularly want too." He responded.

"I'll give up if you punch me."

"Leave off Tash."

"Come on."

"Fuck off."

"Ooh language mister, teach you that in Loki training school did they." It was a very low blow but it worked. Clint turned and thrust his fist towards her, blocked only at the last second by her own arm. He continued hitting out, Natasha matching him throw for throw until he sighed and pulled away.

"You can be a real bitch sometimes you know that?" Clint told her as they lay on the sparring pad.

"Worked though didn't it." She replied just as quietly.

"It was a low blow."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be,' Natasha pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked down at her partner, 'I needed to hear it. I needed that one thing to kick start everything. Thank you."

"Anytime."

"Just don't do it again."

"No promises." She picked up his hand and pressed her lips to his cuts. Then she leaned down and pressed another to his forehead and a third to his lips. The third he responded to willingly.

"You smell of sweat." She whispered with a smile as they pressed their foreheads together.

"You don't smell too fresh yourself." He chuckled as they hauled each other to their feet and headed off to the shower rooms.

_Swoosh _was the sound of falling. The sound of falling and not knowing if you were going to fly or fall. Clint was in that now. He was led in bed quietly, thinking back to the events of the day but his mind drifted too far, back to his thoughts this morning and Loki's takeover. It was that sensation of falling twisting against the sheets and his head reeling from too much terror.

_Knock Knock _

The sound of flying. Clint's parachute. Bringing him out of his mind and into reality he pushed the blankets away and padded to the door, opening it to find his very own metaphorical parachute – a red haired assassin in a strappy top and shorts.

"Sleeping is the hardest bit,' she told him as she made her own way into the room and reassembled the bedding, before climbing into the furthest side, 'Sometimes we just need something to ground us." She smiled lightly as he closed the door and climbed back in.

"I wasn't joking when I said I was in this for the long run Clint. I can't stop the nightmares…but I can be there for when you wake up." She kissed his forehead and nestled down amongst the pillows, curling against his chest when he draped an arm over her waist. He kissed her hair, inhaling the scent that was very much Natasha and eventually fell asleep.

He woke to nightmares that night, but Natasha was there when he woke and there when he returned to slumber. And the night after that, and the night after that.

* * *

**I hope you enjoy, please read and review :) They encourage me to write more!**


End file.
